


Above All In My Mad Heart

by theswearingkind



Series: A Little Foolishness and a Lot of Curiosity [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Wanting</i>, Nasir thinks, that is the difference; under Agron's hands, he begins to understand why men are slaughtered for this, why Troy burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Above All In My Mad Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Spartacus fic-a-thon](http://selonbrody.livejournal.com/83245.html) for selonbrody's prompt of "agron/nasir, first time together, _these are hard times for dreamers and lost-love believers_ " - This took at embarrassingly long time to write, considering that it's not even 1000 words. Sorry about that.
> 
> Title from Sappho. Warnings for mentions of past sexual abuse.

Away from Mira’s watchful eyes, Nasir pulls Agron down to their shared mat, lets Agron’s body cover his, and tries to remember all the tricks he used to know, the things he did to please. Tiberius was good at this, before, but Agron’s hands on his body make it difficult to remember how. Agron’s waist between his thighs drives thought from his head. 

Nasir has been among the rebels for three months, now, and in that time he has been fucked by no one, nor fucked anyone in return. His body has been solely his own, a thing that still seems strangely unreal to think of: surely something is expected of him. Surely there is ransom to be paid. 

The last time he went three months without being fucked was before he was old enough to know what fucking was.

Nasir has known pleasure before; his dominus made no effort toward anyone’s pleasure but his own, but there is no man so foolish that he never has a wise thought, and so it was with his dominus, too: occasionally his cock gave pleasure as it took, mere side effect, worth nothing. _Wanting_ , Nasir thinks, that is the difference; under Agron's hands, he begins to understand why men are slaughtered for this, why Troy burned.

“You are gone from me,” Agron murmurs, and his voice pulls Nasir back, grounds him in the moment, in the steady rock of hips and the radiant heat of their bodies pressed together, the unexpected gift of this man, his eyes and mouth and heart and cock. “Do I bore you?” Agron asks, then, voice low and amused, punctuating his words with a thrust that makes Nasir want to howl, to raze whole cities to the ground.

“Apologies,” he says at last, when words are once again his to command. “I was lost in memories better forgotten, of days I would leave behind.”

“Well,” Agron says, smiling. “Let us see if I cannot occupy mind.” He leans in close and takes Nasir’s lower lip between his teeth, biting slow and hard in a way that makes Nasir’s heart pound and cock jump, releasing Nasir’s lip only to soothe away the sting with his tongue, slow and wet. The scrape of Agron’s beard across Nasir’s chin robs Nasir of breath, and he finds himself wondering what he would not do to feel this again; bear the collar, certainly, but otherwise? 

He must have been silent too long again. Agron pulls back, and the space that opens between their bodies feels like a solid thing, like Nasir could push against it until his arms trembled and gave way and yet have nothing to show for it.

“Nasir,” Agron says, and there is uncertainty in his voice now, all traces of former smile wiped from his face. “Does this—do you not—” He breaks off. “Do you not _want_ this?” he asks finally, and the sound of his voice opens up something bleeding and broken in Nasir’s chest—as though the question were not as ludicrous as the first thought of freedom, as though the mere sight of Agron were not enough, sometimes, to steal away every word Nasir knows, to leave Nasir’s mind a perfect blank. 

He remembers, suddenly, a thing that Mira told him once in passing—that Agron had no woman at the ludus, no boy he called his own, not even a favored whore he’d requested with his meager winnings. Nasir had paid it little mind in the moment, but now her words come back to him with new weight of meaning, and his thoughts catch on them.

Perhaps Nasir is not the only one who has trouble believing that the gods could reverse course so, could grant greatest favor where before they only offered pain. Perhaps this is new for Agron, as well.

“I have never been allowed to want anything,” Nasir says at last. He tightens his hand around the back of Agron’s neck, feels the tension in the man’s muscles, the weight of his body braced over Nasir’s, and tries to imagine how it will feel to do this because he chooses to, because he chose to say yes. “I hardly know how.” 

Agron opens his mouth then—to protest, perhaps, but Nasir does not allow it, surging up and crashing their mouths together; there have been words enough between them for now. They are both of them black-eyed with lust by the time they break apart, and as Agron slicks his cock and pushes inside him, Nasir finds he lacks breath for speech, can only think _yes_ , think _please_ , think _yes, this, this is what I want_.


End file.
